


The Hot Springs Episode

by Annie D (scaramouche)



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Chirrut POV, First Kiss, Fluff, Hot Springs & Onsen, Light-Hearted, M/M, Pre-Canon, young Baze & Chirrut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 05:50:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9164872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scaramouche/pseuds/Annie%20D
Summary: While away from the Temple on assignment, Chirrut and Baze visit a hot spring. Chirrut's excited, but Baze is a little less so.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate title: A Trip to the Hot Springs! Baze and Chirrut Like Each Other???
> 
> A/N: There was going to be smut, but feelings happened instead. Many thanks to zen-ish for the titles.

Chirrut is in the middle of folding his tunic when he notices how Baze has barely moved. During the time that Chirrut’s taken to settle everything from his robes down to his briefs, Baze has completed the singular challenge of taking off his belt, which he’s still clutching in his hands. Baze’s slowness is strange, especially considering how he was complaining just a few minutes ago that this was eating up precious time better spent making their way back to the Holy City.

“Are you having trouble with the knots?” Chirrut asks.

“No,” Baze says flatly.

“Are we going to argue again? Because I’d rather spend these ‘precious’ minutes actually having a soak. My shoulder still hurts.”

“It wouldn’t if you worked more on your posture.”

“But I didn’t, so it does, so I’m doing this.” Chirrut unwinds the knot of his briefs, and lifts one foot at an angle to catch the cloth when it falls. That’s the last of it, leaving Chirrut skyclad and fully determined to enjoy their side expedition, no matter that Baze has turned away, grumbling under his breath.

Visiting this hot spring wasn’t either of their ideas. They’re only in this town for an assignment – picking up necessary supplies for the Temple – and as sometimes happens they’d found themselves dragged into a local disagreement. Their intercession resulted in some yelling and a few bruises, but at the end of it both sides walked away mostly satisfied, and the local first family offered Chirrut and Baze a free-of-charge visit to the town’s pride and joy.

“We’re traveling in the footsteps of monks long gone,” Chirrut says to Baze’s back. “They lived off the hospitality of those they helped in their travels, too.”

“I know,” Baze says.

“And these people are proud of their spring. They put a lot of work into developing it. To be here is to honor them, too.”

“I _know_. It’s…” Baze hesitates, which is uncharacteristic of him. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful.”

“I know you don’t,” Chirrut says. “What’s the problem? Let me help.”

“ _Help_?” Baze starts to turn towards him, only to jerk away. “I—I don’t want to… I just don’t see the point.”

Chirrut’s first inclination is to tease, but Baze is exuding enough discomfort as it is. Truth be told, Chirrut doesn’t understand the reason for Baze’s apparent modesty, seeing as the Temple’s bathing rooms are communal as well, plus the hosts of this spring have happily provided them a private session, free from unfamiliar eyes. That said, it’s also true that Chirrut has never shared refresher space with Baze due to their living on different floors, and it may be that he is simply like this all the time. Who can guess the mysteries that plague Baze Malbus, faithful and fearsome Guardian of the Whills?

“Would it help if I promised not to look?” Chirrut says.

Baze laughs, and the sound is startlingly loud in the enclosed changing area.

“All right,” Chirrut says gently. “I’m sure the hosts would be happy to have you for tea instead.”

“Don’t—” Baze makes an annoyed sound, though it seems to be more directed at himself than at Chirrut. “I’ll join you, just… You go first.”

“Yes, I can do that.”

“Don’t forget your towel.” Baze grabs the item from the railing and hands it over. “And don’t drown until I get there.”

“I’ll try my best.” Chirrut slings the towel over a shoulder and starts walking, following the stream of warm air coming from the doorway that must lead out to the spring itself.

Hot springs are a relative luxury, and one that Chirrut hasn’t indulged in since he dedicated himself to the Temple. When he was a child, he used to follow Grandfather to various springs in and around their town, mostly because Grandfather liked to have someone to help scrub his back.

Although it’s been years since then, not much has changed in the general set-up. Under Chirrut’s feet the tiles of the changing area give way to the external stone floor, with a little path leading up to the rinsing pad, where Chirrut hoses himself down.

After that, there’s the pool itself. The first step inside is always shocking, and Chirrut inhales sharply when hot water wraps around his calves. He moves carefully down the shallow steps – it wouldn’t do to _actually_ need Baze’s help at this point – and finds the seating indents around the edge of the pool. There he settles down, towel folded over his head, and sighs.

It is bliss, the heat working his muscles while the mineral-rich fumes open up his sinuses, and he happily sinks down until the water reaches his collarbones.

Chirrut intends to enjoy every second of this, but then Baze steps out of the changing area, and his focus is derailed completely.

The thing is, Chirrut still doesn’t know Baze as well as he’d like. When Chirrut first arrived at the Temple, they were in different ranks, though it was impossible for Chirrut not to know _of_ Baze. He was the novitiate who crafted like an angel and debated like a demon, and who took to spiritism, holography and kyber arts with such drive that half his ranks admired him openly, while the other half bemoaned the standard by which the grandmasters would now measure them.

That was before Chirrut to know him, Baze, as a _person_. When ranks no longer mattered, Chirrut was able to share training sessions with him, and later still group assignments in serving the Whills. From there Chirrut learned of Baze’s humor, wit, humility, and many other aspects that, instead of raising Baze into the stratosphere of Chirrut’s estimation, brought him immeasurably closer. They are friends – at least, Chirrut believes so, from the way Baze takes Chirrut’s goading in stride and returns volley with a bluntness that is unbelievably charming – and that is already more than Chirrut could have hoped for.

This assignment they’re currently on is but the second that Chirrut’s had with Baze alone, and he’s cherished every single second of it. He’s learned so much about Baze – the noises he makes when he shaves, his choice of verse to meditate on before sleep, the smell of his clothes after making it through a sandstorm.

And right now, in this hot spring, Chirrut learns what it sounds like when Baze walks in the nude.

Baze’s steps are deceptive for a man of his size, for although there is weight behind the press of his soles on the ground, the roll from his toes to heels is cautious, respectful. Baze knows how important this hot spring is to the locals, and is treating it as he would the floor of the Temple.

“Where’s the rinser—oh, I see it,” Baze says. “Right.”

Chirrut sinks a little deeper into the water until it laps against the underside of his chin. Any relief he’d wanted to wrest from the spring is now secondary to the sounds of Baze’s approach. Or, to be more accurate, the sounds that are _absent_ in Baze’s approach. Normally there’s cloth and equipment at the forefront of that aural information, but now all of that is gone. All that’s left is the body – Baze’s body.

There is the rustle of Baze’s hair, up in a ponytail it seems, and it bounces as he walks. There’s the subtle crick of Baze’s shoulders when he rolls them, and there’s the whisper of skin rubbing against skin – the insides of Baze’s thighs brushing with each step. When Baze reaches the edge of the spring, there’s the shifting of air when he lifts his hands in a cautious gesture – presumably trying to figure out where the steps are.

Chirrut holds a breath while Baze enters the pool. His movements are smooth, with no clumsy splashes to mark his entry. Chirrut can only tell by following the displacement of water, its level rising and falling in increments to make space for its new customer.

“All right,” Baze says, after a time. “This is nice.”

Chirrut knows that he should make a self-satisfied comment, but he’s too busy coming to terms with the fact that there are different types of nudity in the world and Baze belongs in a category heretofore unknown. Nakedness is just the lack of clothing, and it shouldn’t make Chirrut’s skin prickle to know that Baze’s exposed body is just a few feet away.

The worst part, Chirrut tries to tell himself, is that he can’t even enjoy this wonderful hot spring anymore. He’s too busy cataloguing things like the way Baze is moving his hands back and forth in the water like paddles – he’s just enjoying the sensation, probably – which sends currents of pressure Chirrut’s way. Technically, _technically_ , Baze is caressing Chirrut through the water. Kind of. Except not, because Baze is just enjoying the damned luxury of sitting in a body of water, and it’s not his fault that Chirrut’s mind is racing through feverish, nonsensical thoughts.

The air is thick with salts, but Chirrut can smell Baze, his presence. If Chirrut were to shift over a few inches, he could reach out and touch bare skin.

“Chirrut?” Baze says. “Are you… meditating?”

“Yes,” Chirrut says.

“Really?” Baze sounds skeptical.

“Of course I am. What else would I be doing?”

“I don’t know. You look serious.”

“Meditation _is_ serious. Grandmaster Ekian says so.”

Baze laughs. “Not the way you do it.”

“Some of us trail blaze the way we can.” Chirrut lowers himself a little more into the water in the hopes of getting Baze to stop talking (he’s not unaware of the irony in their switched roles), yet here, too, Baze disappoints.

“Be careful there, Chirrut.” Baze moves, and there’s a rain of droplets when he lifts an arm out of the water. “I’m not sure your face is made for such an expression.”

“What’s that supposed to—” Chirrut jerks away from the playful touch at his temple, even as he’s cataloguing how Baze’s fingertips feel after being softened by the hot water. “What.”

“Sorry,” Baze says. “I… Never mind. How’s your shoulder?”

“It’s fine. Much improved. How’s your knee?”

“It’s all right.” There’s movement in the water, which has Chirrut imagining Baze frowning down at said knee through the water. Chirrut doesn’t actually know how Baze normally sits, because there’s only so much one can learn from being attentive, but in the spring his feet must be flat on the stone floor. His knees would be a little – or a lot – apart, and Chirrut reminds himself to be a good person and not think about water settling in the intimate spaces of his friend’s body.

“Fifteen minutes, isn’t it?” Chirrut says abruptly. “I’m done.”

“Oh,” Baze says. “I wasn’t keeping track.”

Chirrut hauls himself out of the water before he can second-guess his decision, or which angle he should take in climbing out. Even so he’s out too quickly, and hisses at the rush of cool air on his skin. Through the roar in his ears he vaguely makes out Baze saying something – probably advice to be careful – but Chirrut is already moving, practically bouncing on tip-toes over to the rinser despite the indignity of it. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Once in the changing room and standing in front of his cubbyhole with a towel wrapped around himself, Chirrut relaxes. He takes a handful of deep breaths, and then starts drying himself off efficiently. He tells himself that Baze is a better person than he is, and would not use Chirrut’s moment of weakness against him, if he’d noticed. Probably.

“Chirrut,” Baze says, voice close to Chirrut’s shoulder.

Chirrut jumps. “What?”

“Now I _know_ something’s wrong,” Baze says, worried. “No one sneaks up on _you_. What is it?”

“Nothing, I just want to – you’re right, we’re wasting time.”

“I’m right? If you’re trying to make me worry less, that is a poor answer.” Baze falls quiet while Chirrut finishes drying off and starts pulling his clothes out of the cubbyhole. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” Chirrut says, alarmed. “No, of course not.”

“Then you won’t tell me?”

Chirrut stills, chagrined at the hurt in Baze’s tone. “It’s just… You’re beautiful.”

Baze starts to laugh, but stops abruptly. “What?”

“I already knew you were beautiful within, in your soul.” Chirrut shrugs helplessly. “Today I learned that you are beautiful everywhere. It’s not important, I’m sorry.”

Chirrut busies himself sorting through his clothes and tries to ignore Baze’s presence, but the other man is still standing there, silent and dripping water onto the tiled floor.

“You’re—” Baze clears his throat. “You’re beautiful, too, Chirrut.”

“Hmm,” Chirrut says distantly. “Can you give me some space, I need to—”

Baze’s fingers, still hot from the spring waters, curl around Chirrut’s wrist. “May I?” he says, low and gentle. He waits until Chirrut nods – more confused than anything else – and then lifts Chirrut’s hand, bringing it up to rest on his chest.

Chirrut jerks his hand in surprise, his first reaction to draw away from the inappropriate touch. It’s only after a second that he remembers that this is an invitation, and that Baze is _holding_ his hand there and guiding him to flatten his palm against the warm, damp, lightly-furred skin.

Underneath Chirrut’s hand, Baze’s heart is racing.

Not only that, but Baze’s heart is thumping even faster than _Chirrut’s_. Chirrut is frozen in surprise; he would not have guessed this at all, not with Baze’s breathing being so even, and his stance so still.

The obvious question rises: what else is going on with Baze?

Well, there’s one obvious answer, which is made clear enough by Baze’s actions. In fact, now that Chirrut knows what to look for, he can feel the slight tremor in Baze’s fingers. The only thing that makes Chirrut hesitate is how ludicrous it seems, because he’s never known Baze to have difficulty in expressing himself.

Which just means that Chirrut has a long, _long_ way to go when it comes to knowing Baze Malbus.

“Please say something,” Baze says, a little plaintively.

“This is a new one for me,” Chirrut admits. “I’m rather at a loss.”

“Surely you’ve petted other wet, naked men before.” Chirrut laughs, and then raises his other hand to Baze’s face, cupping the curve from his cheek to chin. Baze is grinning as well, and keeps on grinning as he says, “There we are. I missed that smile of yours.”

“And now I know another way to get your attention.”

Baze huffs. “That’s cheeky of you.”

“It’s cheeky of you _,_ to be telling me this _here_ , while we’re both underdressed and vulnerable.”

“I know, I know,” Baze says, sighing ruefully. “I wanted to do this correctly. Gauge your interest to be sure of my welcome, and then court you with proper ceremony.”

“You still can,” Chirrut says. “You’ve just done that first part, haven’t you?”

“Have I? You haven’t actually confirmed—” Baze is silenced when Chirrut tips forward, bringing their lips together.

Chirrut misses a little and has to course-correct, but Baze doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, Baze seems fully agreeable, and parts his lips to initiate Chirrut into another round of sensory overload.

This is what Baze’s mouth tastes like. This is what he smells like up close. This is how it feels when Baze coaxes Chirrut’s mouth open, and slips his tongue between Chirrut’s lips. It is all extremely useful information, and further evidence of what rich and exquisite treasures the galaxy holds.

Baze draws away first, with a sharp grunt and the loss of slight pressure against Chirrut’s thigh that he only _just then_ realizes must have been the tip of Baze’s erection. On one hand, this is a disappointment, but on the other hand, this bodes well for their future courtship, which Chirrut has decided will be magnificent.

“Right,” Baze says. He clears his throat, and there’s a rustle when he pulls a towel tighter around himself. “I hear your answer, Chirrut Îmwe. Thank you.” He sounds so dignified, too, but ruins the effect by brushing his thumb across Chirrut’s lower lip. Chirrut’s knees only go a _little_ bit weak.

“And I look forward to your courtship.” Surprisingly, it isn’t difficult for Chirrut to take a step back and away, for he is content to be patient.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [rogueonekink](http://rogueonekink.dreamwidth.org/) on dreamwidth, for the prompt: _"Chirrut has no shame and loves a nice long soak - Baze however isn't too sure about this communal bathing thing and gets a bit shy about getting naked in front of Chi but Chi despite being blind thinks Baze is the hottest thing EVAH."_ ([Original prompt thread.](http://rogueonekink.dreamwidth.org/1084.html?thread=122428#cmt122428))


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